


And all you ever wanted (was someone to treat you nice and kind)

by Clift01



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, dark!Sam; jealous!Sam; possessive!Sam; protective!Sam; slight deaged!Dean; virgin!Dean, dub-con; angst; WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:20:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clift01/pseuds/Clift01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taken yet again from a SPNKink prompt:  <br/>Without YED's interference Dean would have grown up shy, but affectionate, and gay (versus denial.) While on a hunt, he encounters a witch who hits him with a True Nature Curse (can be well-meaning versus distraction.)<br/>Suddenly Dean is shy around strangers (unless on a job)but likes PDAs from loved ones. He's also ready for his first time with a guy and to be the one taken care of instead of doing the caring. Either a stronger-than-Dean Cas or Sam is fine. Up to the author if the curse is permanent, but the relationship should stay strong (and Dean should continue to be a BAMF of a hunter.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bobby and Cas didn’t hold their punches: it would be permanent and forever. There wasn’t going to be a cure or a last minute miracle and that changed the nature of their evening; it wasn’t a goodnight but a _goodbye_ and the bitch of it was that Dean didn’t know. 

No, the _real_ bitch of it was that the brother Sam loved and known all his life would be gone come the morning. Gone, as if he’d never existed and in his place…

_Don‘t tell him, Sam. Not a word, you promise me boy._

Bobby’s wretched devastation had been warning enough and realisation had sunk in quickly for Sam. The information was sketchy but Bobby told him that when the final stage of the curse hit, Dean would fall into a deep sleep at midnight and the man who woke in his place would be different. Not him but a Stepford wife clone; beautiful but a stranger in all the ways that mattered.

_“I’m not Sleeping fucking Beauty,”_ Dean had griped, trying to play it for laughs. Sam’s mind had gone to another time he’d lost his brother at that hour and he’d felt such a keening sense of loss he could have sobbed.

_We’ll tell him it’s for seven days._

“Lighten up, dude, it’s just for a week. And then I’ll be --”

_Gone forever._

“-- back to my awesome self in no time.”

They sat perched on the saggy twin beds in the crappy motel and clinked beers. The scene was so familiar, played out in hundreds if not thousands of other crappy motel rooms and so fucking _normal_ Sam found himself blinking back tears.

It was 11:50.

Ten minutes left. That was all. Ten miserly minutes left with the big brother who’d always been there for him, who’d practically raised him and been a better father than John ever could have aspired to be; who’d mothered him in the absence of Mary; who’d never said a word about those long four years when Sam was at Stanford and Dean had missed him so much he’d had to reach out and hope that he wouldn’t be rejected again – only for his brother to either hung up on him or yell to be left the fuck alone. He flinched when he thought back to that; Dad had pretty much turned his back on Sam then but he’d done worse by leaving Dean the way he’d had, turning all his anger and bitterness on to the one person who’d always loved him unconditionally. Sam knew what he’d been doing; he’d heard it in the tone of his voice and could picture the flicker of pain in his brother’s eyes and a part of him, the part that he hated and wanted to bury, had relished it. 

Over the years there’d been many sacrifices and Sam knew he was only aware of the tip of the iceberg. They were sacrifices a brother who was only four years older should never have made. It was four years age difference - that was all. The difference was enough to be a slightly older sibling but not a parent. At college Sam had friends who’d enrolled as mature students, who were several years older and who’d never had half the responsibility his brother had at age ten. Even then he’d never given it much thought, just taken it for granted that Dean’s role as care giver was firmly established. When Sam looked back at their childhood he didn’t like what the saw; they’d had it tough and Sam had been selfish enough to make it that bit tougher for his brother.

And Sam was going to lose Dean. Lose everything his brother was and had been to him.

Dean yawned and snuggled back on to the bed as exhaustion set in. The curse, Sam knew and his heart skipped a beat. Dean grinned tiredly at his beer. “One duh-drink and I’m w-wasted?” He was slurring his words but looked more stoned than drunk to Sam. “I think the buh-bitch tuh-turned me into a ch-cheap duh-d-date, Sammy.”

Bobby had fled an hour ago, his eyes misting as he hurried to leave before Dean noticed his tears. He’d wiped his face roughly before grabbing and hugging Dean hard. “See you in the morning, boy,” he’d rasped. 

It was just the two of them now. They were nearly out of time and Sam’s gaze kept returning to his watch, his misery increasing with each passing minute. 

Time was slipping through his fingers and there was nothing he could do. It was going to happen and it couldn’t be overturned. Such a stupid, innocuous, _harmless_ sounding spell the witch had thought she’d gifted Dean, rewarding him for his kindness and she’d _smiled_ as she’d spoken. She’d given his brother a death sentence and the bitch had _smiled._

Later, when Sam found her, she’d stuttered she was granting Dean the life he should have had, that his brother would be reborn, younger, more true to who he should have been. To some extent she’d been right, Dean did deserve better, he’d witnessed his stable life savagely torn away at an early age and then because of his devotion to this family he gave up the little that remained. So yeah, Dean did deserve more but not at the cost of having everything he was ripped away from him and to not even be himself anymore; to be reduced to a fucking _meat suit._

After she’d stammered there was no way to reverse it Sam made sure she’d died screaming. When Bobby found him Sam had been elbow deep in her blood and entrails and the older man stared at him like he was a monster. The scene was constantly preying on the older man’s mind, Sam saw the wary looks directed at him and sure, he could fake regret but the truth was he had none. Given the opportunity he would do exactly the same again and Bobby knew it.

==

Dean was struggling to keep his eyes open and Sam grabbed the beer from his suddenly useless fingers before it spilt over the already grubby bed cover. It was as he leant over Dean that his brother clutched his face and pulled him close. His green eyes were feverish but very much aware, his breath hot on his Sam’s face.

“I’m not an idiot, Sam. I know what this is. I’m not coming back, am I?"

Of course Dean would know, he’d see right through their crappy subterfuge. That didn’t stop him from pleading ignorance. “I don’t --”

“Sam,” Dean admonished and that was it. Sam was done. His heart fractured and he could feel that tiny barrier holding back all his hurt weakening under the weight of his pain. He gulped deep breaths as Dean looped his arms around his neck. 

“Tell Bobby… tell Bobby I love him like a dad. No, better.” Dean’s voice cracked with emotion and the effort he was taking to speak. He gave Sam a brave smile and somehow that hurt worst of all; his fucking brother protecting him to the very end. But Dean wasn’t finished. He pulled back so they could look into each other’s eyes. “And there’s a lot of crap between us Sammy but I love you too. More than anyone else. Always have, always will. You’re the best brother I could have had and I’d do anything for you, man.”


	2. Chapter 2

That was part of the problem. Dean had given and given and Sam had taken without question. Sam buried his face in his brother’s chest, helpless to stop the tears he’d been holding back for a week. He sobbed noiselessly, his body trembling even as his brother wrapped his arms around his neck.

“Hey, I’m not dying, S-s-sam. I’m gonna wake up rr-right here in this bed tomorrow morning and I’ll see you and Bobby and Cas. I’m gonna be right here. I’ll be a little different but it will s-s-still be me. Y-you try to remember that, you remember it’s me. And I’ll be o-oh-okay because you’ll look after me, won’t you Sammy? You’ll tuh-t-teach me what I taught you? What Da-Dad taught you?”

Sam looked up and nodded feebly but it was enough. Dean’s smile was tired but relieved. “T-t-then it’s your t-t-turn. And I’ll be o-okay because you’ll look out f-fu-for muh-me.” Sam moaned into Dean’s chest. His head slipped sideward and he noticed the crappy alarm clock on the cabinet blinking back at him.

_Five minutes._

A cold chill swept through him. Everything would change in five minutes. It wasn’t long enough for him to catch his breath let alone get used to being alone forever. He had nothing to look forward to and it was just five fucking lousy minutes and then it would be dark and cold and it would hurt like a bitch. He loved Dean and he wanted _him_ , not some pale carbon copy that felt nothing for him, and he felt nothing for. Over the years their lives had become increasingly entangled until they were part of each other, and if he lost Dean now he’d lose himself too. He reached up and gently grasped his brother’s beautiful face in his hands.

“Please don’t close your eyes, Dean, try to stay awake. Keep--” His brother’s eyelids lowered and in desperation Sam slapped him.

_Four._

Dean’s head snapped to the side and he winced. He blinked sluggishly, listening, trying to hear and understand. Something about staying awake. He was so tired, like the only thing he could do was sink into sleep and he ached for it but Sam was repeating the same words over and over --

_Stay awake stayawake_

\-- His eyes snapped open. He could do that for Sammy. He could resist the pull of sleep and he held on even as his fingers weakened their grip. Sam was still talking and he didn’t understand what he was saying now but it was important so he nodded and Sam hugged him tighter. “Don’t leave me, please Dean don’t leave me again.”

_Three._

Not enough time. Never enough time. So different from back when they were small and Sam had thought being a kid was endless and forever and he hated it, hated being powerless, hated being hostage to Dad and his selfish dark moods and being ignored, and how Dad did things that made no sense and made him so angry all the time, and that weird mix of pain and pleasure at seeing how it affected Dean, at how quiet he got at times, when he’d bite his lip --

_(plush, kissable and oh god Sam’s breath would catch and he would blush and look away)_

\--and try to calm them both, only for father and son to turn on Dean instead, and Sam hated himself for liking seeing Dean hurt, and Sam had wanted to be an adult so bad so he could say _no, I won’t_ and _I want and Dean_ \--

_Two._

It wasn’t fair. Dean should be indestructible. He could picture him as a ten year old kid facing down bullies or running his fingers through John’s hair after a brutal fight or a drinking binge, and looking after them, patching them up or cleaning and cooking for them and being tired but making sure there was enough food and always being strong. If Sam was strong for Dean and held on tight now, if he refused to let go then maybe it would be enough because two minutes was nothing and it made no sense. How could it? Two minutes would slip past and then there would be nothing but him alone and it didn’t make sense because he’d lost Dean before and it had hurt so bad it had gutted him and changed him and then Cas had brought him back and everything had started to make sense again and he’d been able to smile and feel something other than that bitter black anger and it was Dean and he remembered his brother smiling at him and he’d felt grounded and almost safe and he didn’t feel like he was drowning anymore. 

He could breathe. 

For the first time in a long while he could breathe and relief had flooded through him. Without Dean that bleak darkness would return.

He’d always felt safe with Dean; always, from right back on his first day at school when he’d turned away from Dad and taken Dean’s hand instead, scared but trusting him more. How sweaty Sam’s hand had been in his brother’s and how he’d been so nervous and his brother had turned and smiled and said, “Don’t be scared, Sammy. I’ll be here for you after school. I’ll always--”

_On--_

Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head. 


	3. Chapter 3

He slumped against him and Sam lost all control. In his grief he grabbed at his brother blindly, twisting his shirt and weeping hysterically, drenching his brother’s shirt in tears and snot until he felt hands (Bobby?) gently tugging at him.

Dean was motionless. 

Sam gathered him up desperately, thinking of the last time and how it hadn’t seemed real then and it didn’t now either because Dean Winchester was too fucking vivid to be anything but his annoying brother that he loved.

=

When Bobby pushed open the door he knew what he found would break him and it did. Dean was sprawled in his brother’s arms and Sam was sobbing brokenly into his chest. Bobby felt sick to the core. There was no blood. Not like that other time when Dean had been ripped to shreds and Sam had been just like this, crying and weeping and a mess covered in tears and snot and his brother’s blood. This time Dean slept on, oblivious, a look of calm on his features and he looked fine and alive and Bobby hoped to hell he was. He took a deep breath and steeled himself, grasping Sam’s shoulder.

“Sam. C’mon, Sam, let him --”

_(go)_

“-- be. He’s --”

_(gone)_

“-- just sleeping. He’s okay, boy, he’s okay.”

It was a lie. He could tell from Bobby’s tone that he didn’t even buy it himself. Sure, the body he was clutching was warm and it was breathing but it wasn’t _Dean_. Dean was gone. Sam knew that. It suddenly hit him on a visceral level what he was actually holding in his arms; nothing but a bag of meat and bones and blood held together by connective tissue and skin, and he was repulsed, violently pushing away from his brother’s body so abruptly that Bobby and he both staggered backwards until the older man steadied them. 

He watched _it_ slump lifelessly back on the bed.

“He knew, Bobby, he knew.” Sam rasped.

The man nodded, pulling his baseball cap off his head and wringing it in his hands. “Yeah. Your brother said his goodbyes to me earlier.” The younger man moaned. Bobby gripped his arm and forced him to face the sleeping body on the bed. “Dammit Sam, your brother’s not dead. You look at him right there. He’s breathing. Dean’s not dead.”

Bobby wasn’t certain Sam believed him. Hell, he wasn’t completely sure himself. He bit his lip, wishing that the boy he loved was still there when he woke up. Dean could rile him like no one else but all those facets that drove him crazy also made him love Dean all the more. In all his years he’d never met a better man. Dean was special and even if the darn fool didn’t know his true worth Bobby did. So yeah, when he’d walked in and seen Sam bawling like a baby a part of him had wanted to join right in. 

When Dean had come to him earlier he’d been joking around, pretending the curse was just another monster the Winchesters could kill and walk away from, no harm, no foul. He’d tried, like the idiot always did, to put a brave face on it, but by the end the kid had tears in his eyes as Bobby hugged him and he admitted his fears: that he’d be wiped away as if he’d never existed and never mattered to anyone. No heaven or hell or purgatory; just nothing. That he would be so utterly replaced he would not even be a memory for Sam and Bobby. His words hit Bobby hard and he’d barely been able to offer comfort. Instead he’d clutched Dean’s hand and pulled it to his chest over his heart. “I won’t forget you, boy. You’ll be here with me and Sam always.”

It wasn’t a lie. Dean had been special to Bobby the first time he’d laid eyes on him. He’d been a raggedy thin and suspicious eight year old kid who was a seasoned soldier for his daddy and a mother to his brother - but Bobby saw him for what he actually was: a little boy who swallowed his hurt and fears to put his family first and Bobby had _ached_ to help the kid. After his wife had died he was numb to everything and it hadn’t bothered him: he didn’t want a close connection again if it left him gutted and raw. But there was something about the kid… It had taken time but after an initial distrust Dean had eagerly seized every scrap of affection he gave - as long as it didn’t hinder his role as caretaker for Sammy of course. But the effort and time Bobby had put in had been worth it, and each hard won smile Dean rewarded him with had beaten a path to Bobby’s heart. 

It had been a double edged sword of course. From day one Bobby had known Dean was going to break his heart. And Dean _had_ , over and over again, he’d done it each time he’d repressed his needs and wants, each time he put himself last for his family, each time he’d been broken and confused by being left behind by Sam and then John, and then he’d gone and torn a permanent hole in Bobby’s heart when he’d learned about the damned deal. Bobby had come to accept a while ago that a broken heart was part and parcel of loving Dean.

But not this time - not if Bobby could help it. 

Dean was right there; breathing, hell, he didn’t even look to be in a deep sleep. Boy looked like all it would take was one good shake of the shoulder and he’d cuss them both for waking him up. It gave him hope.

Sam shook off Bobby’s hold and slumped to the ground, all his attention fixed on his brother and thinking only _DeanDeanDean_ – the rest was white noise. He watched the older man tug off Dean’s shoes and smoothly draw the covers up to his chin. He was so gentle and deferential it hurt to watch and Sam turned away, gasping in pain. Everything his childhood had meant was gone with his brother now; not just a sibling but the child who’d nurtured him and been his mom. Without that foundation Sam didn’t know what he had left. The older man was putting on a brave front but Sam knew how utterly devastated he was; he’d lost Dean too.

=

Bobby eventually slipped out without Sam noticing, leaving him seated clumsily on the floor leaning against the bed behind him, intent on keeping guard over his brother’s body as he --

_(it)_

\-- slept. It was possible that it was his brother --

_(meatsuit)_

\-- on the bed labouring under the curse, slowly losing all those pieces that were uniquely Dean throughout the night until he awoke in the morning, a stranger to everyone and everything. If Sam watched close enough he might be able to tell the exact moment when his brother took his last breath as Dean.

He planned on keeping vigil throughout the night but a weeks’ worth of misery caught up on him and Sam soon lost himself to a mixture of exhaustion and grief; when he started awake the room was dimly lit with early dawn light streaming through the window. 

He pivoted his attention to the bed, slowly and painfully, each breath he took drawn out and laboured. Large green eyes were watching him warily. Sam could only stare as he --

_(it)_

\-- sat up in the bed, the sheets sliding down to his --

_(its)_

\-- hips and it was painfully evident that his clothing was too large. Dean had always tended to the slighter wiry build but he’d disguised it with ample layers. This … his mind hesitated over his brother’s name, this guy was less muscled. Slim and slight and smooth cheeked. There wasn’t a hint of the stubble his brother carefully maintained and without it he lost that dangerous edge even if it had done very little to detract from how pretty he really was. 

Sam was sure his brother had never looked this innocent or young. Not even when he’d been a child. To Sam he’d always been the big brother who shouldered the responsibilities and took care of everything. This man-child looked helpless and when he spoke, his voice was higher, less raspy than it should have been but it fit. It fit whoever the hell he was. 

“Sam?”

He couldn’t answer. Instead he stood on shaky legs and could only stare as the man blushed under the scrutiny. Nervously, he licked his lips and looked up at Sam. He was young. Barely out of his teens maybe. And so sultrily pretty it was obscene. His hair was a couple of shades lighter, his cheeks rosy and his eyes bright. He focused on the large green orbs framed by dark dense lashes and the smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose. His lips glistened, spit slick and …

Oh god, his _mouth_ … red and pouty and so …

Sam groaned. He took another step closer to the bed, faltered, snagged the Impala’s keys and fled.


	4. Chapter 4

_Six months later._

 

“What the hell do you want?”

Sam dumped his bag on the floor and slumped on the edge of the bed. He was bone tired. The hunt had gone well – if for longer than he had thought. All he wanted was a hot shower, food and few beers to wash it all down. He stared at his unwelcome guest and Castiel stared right back, doing his not-blinking routine. Knowing the angel the status-quo could continue for some time.

Sam nodded and stood. “Great talk, Cas. Want to get lost now?”

Instead the angel picked up Sam’s discarded jacket from floor with obvious distaste and deposited it on the back of the chair. “I thought you’d want to know that Dean’s living with Bobby; it was the safest solution and he is happy. But Sam you have to know that your continued absence is causing your brother great pain.”

Well, that was a lie. He shook his head in denial. “Don’t, Cas. My brother’s dead. And no, I don’t mean Adam.” As harsh as it sounded his half-brother was nothing to him. His loss could never have derailed him like Dean’s.

Castiel sighed deeply, disappointment obvious in those clear blue eyes. “At times you are a disappointment to me; like your father you are capable of great cruelty, Sam. It is hard to see the resemblance to your brother.”

Right. Cas and Dean’s _profound_ bond. Despite everything Sam felt that familiar flare of jealousy before he remembered the truth. There was nothing left to be jealous of.

“Dean’s dead. If you’re talking about what’s left in the meatsuit I have no interest.” Fuck. Just saying his name made his heart stutter. It was the first time in months he had said it out loud. _Dean_ , he ached. He felt the loss in his entire being.

“Sam--”

“It’s not him! The bitch killed Dean and what’s left isn’t worth shit. If you were human you would understand what that means. Just because it looks identical to Dean does not mean it’s him.”

“You are wrong. Dean Winchester remains and he is the same as he ever was. Just … shaped … differently. Sam, you must understand when I first laid eyes on him in hell he wasn’t in a physical form. Not in the way you would comprehend. But I recognised him then and I see him still. He is constant. And he is not a meatsuit.”

The angel’s gaze narrowed, his eyes cold and flint like. If Sam was a lesser man he might even be frightened of him; he was intimidating and his voice when he continued was coloured with anger. He was the Angel of God who had once terrified Dean and Sam was beginning to understand why. 

“Your brother survived hell and he survives the slaughtered witches curse intact. I’m here for Dean; he loves you and wishes to speak with you. If this is what you truly believe I find little comfort in the thought of you being reunited, so this is the last time I try to convince you. I fear you are not worthy of him, Sam, that you have never been, though I keep hoping you will show me why Dean has such faith in you.”

Sam scoffed. When Cas spoke next he sounded affronted.

“Dean can be happy without you. He has great capacity--”

“That proves it’s not my brother! Dean would never have been able to rest if he knew I was out here and we were like this. This _thing_ \--”

“This _thing_ has given Dean the ability to live a happy life that does not revolve around you.” Cas cocked his head to one side. “There is – there should – be more than one dimension to your brother. And that bothers you, doesn’t it? That you are no longer the centre of Dean’s world.” The angel nodded as he spoke, his countenance becoming sterner with realisation. “Maybe it is better if you do not return. You are selfish, and I have no doubt he can learn to live without you and be happy. He is already. Goodbye, Sam.”

Despite himself it hurt that Cas could turn his back on him so easily. Sam glared at him. “Then leave. I never wanted you here anyway. Go explore your profound bond with my brother’s clone for all I care.”

In return, the smile Castiel gave him was far from friendly. “You are jealous. Like I said, I see Dean, the real him. I saw him then and I see him now. I also see you,” Cas cocked his head to one side, his tone almost snide. “I can see you and I am very aware of your desires.”

The hunter stiffened.

Then, almost tauntingly: “That also doesn’t change, does it Sam?”

In the blink of an eye a memory struck Sam; at five years old he had announced he was going to marry Dean one day; that his older brother would be the prettiest and ‘bestest’ wife ever. His father had arched an eyebrow critically and frowned. There was a strange look on his face; guilt warring with annoyance while he struggled to say something, his mouth twisting soundlessly, and Sam remembered getting mad, thinking Daddy wasn’t going to let him have Dean because he wanted him. He was always taking Dean away from him! When he saw Dad shoot a glance at a flustered Dean he was furious.

“He’s mine, Daddy, not yours!”

Dean heard everything of course; his ‘Shut up Sammy’s!’ was testament to that. He’d blushed, furious as Sam argued with John and the tension had been terrible until John had let out a deafening laugh and nearly fallen off his chair. “Deano, you should see your face!”

His brother had stomped his feet and stormed out even as Sam yelled at his retreating back that he’d marry him one day and let him wear a pretty dress. “Not a girl, Sammy!” Dean had shouted back.

Of course now he knew it was fairly normal for little boys to imagine marrying their mommies - and twisted family dynamics aside that was what Dean had been in reality to him. That innocent desire may have been the reason he wanted Dean then but it was not the reason now. That childlike virtue was long gone and had been replaced with far more perverted cravings; it was the worst part of him and it sickened him that Castiel could see it and maybe had always seen it.

He looked up guiltily, wanting to deny Cas’s words but the angel had already disappeared.

Numb to the core Sam dug out a bottle of scotch and indulged in a drinking binge that would have impressed John Winchester. He even made a toast to the old bastard. When he woke in the morning his head was pounding and his stomach roiled uncomfortably as the room spun around him. It was a hangover from hell and from bitter experience it would keep him miserable all day, and with his defences down he couldn’t stop obsessing over Dean’s death. Sam closed his eyes and bit down on a sob. He’d never see his brother’s smirk or bear the brunt of his teasing or just lose himself in the pleasure of being with him again. 

Because Dean was gone, now and forever.

=

Castiel’s appearance renewed his grief and Sam lost himself in weeks of drinking to excess and bedding whores. None of it made that one central fact change, that there was a Dean shaped hole in the world and no-one cared. The sun still rose and sank, and with it people lived out their pointless mundane lives until they went to bed and then repeated the same mess the next day. Wash, rinse, repeat ad infinitum. It was so fundamentally wrong and he was the only one who knew it.

He felt the entire world had gone mad and he was the only sane man left standing. Dean was dead and it wasn’t a cataclysmic event; it was just another day. He hated them for their indifference. He wanted to grab the idiots and yell in their faces that Dean was dead and shake them until they understood.

It took several weeks until Sam admitted his current strategy wasn’t working, because the truth was he was never quite drunk or fucked out enough to forget. He had to know.

Frustrated, he scrambled for his cell and dialled a number he knew by heart. A familiar gruff voice answered: “Sam, that you boy?”

“Yeah, Bobby, it’s me.”

There was an uncomfortable pause, and Sam was bitterly aware of how unwelcoming his friend sounded. “Well, it’s been a while. What do you want?”

My brother, he wanted to cry. Instead he took a deep breath. “Just tell me. Is it him?” Dean of course and the older man knew it. When all was said and done who else was there?

“Me and Cas spoke … well I didn’t expect to hear from you. Not now, not ever.”

“I need to know, Bobby. Please tell me. Is it him?”

There was another pause and a soft chuckle with more than a hint of fondness – but not for him, for his brother. Dean had always been Bobby’s favourite. “It’s him all right.”

Eighteen hours later Sam was at Bobby’s door.

=

 

The smells were overwhelming; gorgeous and inviting and Sam’s mouth watered immediately. Bobby on the other hand stood on the threshold of the door blocking his way, his arms crossed and far less welcoming.

“If it were up to me you wouldn’t be here.” His anger was palpable. Sam fancied he could almost reach out and touch it.

“I needed --”

Bobby held up a hand. “--Oh, screw you and your excuses. You know what? I don’t need to hear and I sure as hell don’t give a crap. You’re a Winchester through and through just like your Daddy: selfish to the rotten core. The only one worth something in your family is your brother.”

So he had been told. _Speaking of_. “Where is he?”

Bobby lowered his arms and his voice. He looked around guiltily and relaxed his pose, forcing himself to calm down even as he bristled with anger. “Your brother’s upstairs, getting cleaned up.”

Sam nodded, suddenly nervous as Bobby finally stepped back and, if not exactly welcoming him inside, not putting up a fight about him stepping into his home either. Inside, the aroma of home cooking was even more delicious and Sam’s stomach rumbled in anticipation. At least he’d get a good meal out of today. Even more disturbingly though, the interior of Bobby’s home was neatly ordered and clean, almost like a comfortable home rather than a dumping ground for obscure texts. Despite the obvious frostiness he couldn’t resist teasing the older man. “You got a girlfriend you haven’t told me about?”

Bobby looked at him like he was a mad man. 

Okay, so wrong tack. Sam tried again, for some reason the alternative making him unhappy. “Or Dean then I guess?”

“What hell’s nonsense are you talking now, boy?”

Sam nodded at the kitchen. “Well, this-” he waved his hand around the pristine décor. “Your home is so clean it’s sparkling and someone’s been cooking…”

“Dean’s doing. Your fool brother’s taken it into his head his prodigal brother deserves the fatted calf,” Bobby sneered at him. “Don’t bother asking me what I think you’re worth.”

“Bobby don’t. I just ... this is hard for me too. And quit calling him my brother.”

The look the older man gave him was scathing. “Like I said, I don’t give a damn what you want. The only reason I’m allowing you in my home is to please your brother. I’ve spent a long time with the Winchesters and I’ve seen some stupid stunts, but you walking out on your brother beats them all. I’ve known you since you were a little boy but I don’t know you at all, you may as well be a stranger to me.”

“Bobby!” Dean admonished.

Sam was glad for the intervention and looked up to the stairs and saw him …

Oh hell. He looked gorgeous. 

“Please don’t,” Dean continued softly. Sam watched entranced as he made his way towards them and even though he knew it was not really his brother he couldn’t help the jolt of joy that flooded his being. Dean came up and held Bobby’s arm gently and the older man immediately softened in a way that Sam had never seen him do before. He smiled back at Dean with obvious affection.

“What? I ain’t shot the idjit. Yet.” The last was muttered under his breath and came with a frosty look directed at Sam. Dean rolled his eyes and turned to Sam. He moved forward hesitantly and Sam could understand why Bobby had melted. This Dean … he was breathtakingly beautiful and as shallow as it sounded he found himself responding positively. His brother stepped closer and Sam felt his throat catch. He could barely breathe as he watched his brother approach. He looked so young, so vulnerable and Sam felt an overwhelming urge to protect him.

“You’re beautiful.” The words just fell out of his mouth with no thought process involved and he reddened in embarrassment. But it was true. Bobby harrumphed and stalked into the kitchen.

Dean blushed and ducked his head. He looked up again and smiled warmly, his cheeks pink. “I … thank you? I’m glad you came. It’s good to see you, Sam.” He stepped forward and Sam was powerless; he swept him up into his arms, easily lifting him up and pulling him tight against him. To his shame he felt tears slide down his cheeks. Dean felt small in his arms, slighter and less defined but he looked right. He laughed and squeezed him tighter and felt like he would burst with happiness. 

If only he was real.

Still holding fast he dredged up memories of their last night together and how he watched his brother slip away. His glee turned to misery and he bit down on his lip.

Dean tightened his grip and tried to soothe him. “It’s okay, Sammy, it’s okay.” The comfort was familiar and he remembered a thousand times when his brother had just done this but it was far from okay.

It wasn’t. He didn’t even smell right. It was too clean, too much clean skin and not enough sweat and oil.


End file.
